


Young

by Replica_of_Divinity



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Humor, M/M, Post-War, off screen interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:54:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22131166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Replica_of_Divinity/pseuds/Replica_of_Divinity
Summary: Full title: I Want to Feel Young and Stupid AgainOptimus is having a subtle post war mid life crisis; Megatron has (apparently) been waiting for this moment.( I live )
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime
Comments: 3
Kudos: 93





	Young

“ _ Well. _ ” Optimus rumbled, still trying to keep his amusement from showing, “You look good.”

Megatron sneered, and - primus, even his  _ fangs _ ? 

“ _ Shut up. _ ” he snapped.

His silvery grey armor had been polished to an almost mirror shine, every red accent had been retouched, even  _ reshaped _ ; everything accentuating his powerful, sharp angles, and...broad proportions. All the nicks and gashes, pits and tiny dents that Optimus had grown accustomed to were gone like they’d never even there. And there was detailing; swirling markings upon his chestplate, and jagged lines on his high cheeks, and along the top of his helm. He looked bigger, more imposing, but with a certain elegant flair Optimus hadn’t expected. He  _ did _ look good, angry true, but he always looked angry; and Optimus couldn’t decide whether to feel sorry for him...or feel awkward for the genuine sentiment.

He kept his field close as the former warlord skulked past him, Primus forbid he pick up on the interest, “It’s called a compliment, Megatron; they’re different from insults I assure you.”

Megatron snorted, barely pausing as he gave a venomous glare over his shoulder, optics bright and thin. Someone was an unhappy camper.

Frankly, Optimus himself was no better; he’d been manhandle just as much...possibly more, no way to tell without comparing. And he hadn’t exactly been keen on it either, but he’d learned to grin through unpleasant situations long ago. A skill, he suspected, Megatron never saw the purpose in mastering.

As they came to stand before the massive doors that would lead them into quite possibly the largest gathering of Cybertronian leaders since before the war, Megatron paused. Optimus stood beside him, their shoulders almost touching, and he could just barely feel the bite of that oft acidic field; though he knew from a few, special occasions, that it could exude a warmth he’d never felt in anyone else. Lately he found himself craving that field, in the middle of the night when was too restless to recharge or buried under a mountain of paper work. _ Paper work; _ something he should’ve been delighted to do, but he loathed it.

“ _ Compliments, _ Prime,” his optics slide sideways to glance at Optimus, though his face remained forward, “ **_ require honesty. _ ** ”

It seemed comradery was unlikely to be found in his former enemy this night. Somehow he found that genuinely disappointing, despite the fact that he should’ve seen it coming; and Primus what did he want Megatron for? The mech is terrible at parties.

Frowning behind his mask, he pushed open the doors, “I  _ was _ being honest.”

If there was any flicker of surprise in Megatron, Optimus didn’t bother to acknowledge it. If he wanted to sulk, he was free to sulk; Optimus didn’t have to let himself be dragged into it. Frankly, when a tentative peace had finally been reached, Optimus only felt as if he’d stepped off one battle field and onto another.

Except on this one he couldn’t punch Megatron in the face; which most of the time he supposed was a good thing. But he,  _ rather shamefully really _ , often found himself missing the simplicity of clocking the tyrant in the jaw and calling it a day. He was starting to consider asking Megatron for sparring matches, just to work through pent up energy; it even sounded like something he’d agree to, gleefully.

Hours later, when the engex had long since been brought out and everyone was having fun in the afterglow, his comm pinged with Megatron’s ID, with nothing but a location. He’d felt he was do a break, and it was all too easy to use his co-leader as an excuse to slip away. He took a moment as he drifted out into the darkened hallways to appreciate the glow of Iacon just outside the massive windows of the capital building. The hum of music and chatter was barely noticeable after the doors to the grand hall shut behind him, and there was a certain...melancholic peacefulness to it; he didn’t like how it felt all that much. A short walk had him stepping out onto a balcony, a familiar silhouette leaning against the railing facing toward him. 

“You look good too.” was the first, stilted thing pushed out of Megatron’s vocalizer.

Optimus pulled up short and then snorted, shoulders trembling with repressed laughter. Megatron growled and straightened, but Optimus managed to grab his arm before he stormed off. He was vaguely aware of the light buzz running through his systems, and definitely aware of a stronger one pulsing through the large mech beside him. But Megatron didn’t pull away, and suddenly Optimus felt so  _ young _ . It was like he was Orion all over again, and he’d snuck off from his superiors to meet with a lover in the back room of the warehouse. He could count on his hands how many times he’d gotten to do that; it never lost its charm.

He snapped his battle mask back, and laced blue digits with black; Megatron looked at their entwined hands and then at Optimus’ face with the most ridiculous look of bewilderment. And Optimus didn’t bother to think of repercussions, or possible media bots lurking in the shadows or on roof tops; because he felt young, and stupid, and he didn’t realize how much he’d  _ needed that _ .

“Thank you.” Optimus purred, leaning in, mischief rife in his own field.

Megatron squinted and smirked, and that other big hand found its way to Optimus’ waist, and whilst Megatron distracted Optimus’ mouth he steadily pushed the Prime back until he was crowded against the wall. Those fangs had definitely been sharpened, if the stinging sensation in his lip was anything to go by.

Megatron sucked on the wound and rumbled his engine as he pulled back, “Took you long enough Prime.”

Optimus made a distracted questioning noise as that treacherous mouth moved along his jaw and started down his throat. A small portion of his processor was sputtering about propriety and public decency; but it was being resolutely ignored and labeled as ‘things for tomorrow Optimus to worry about’. Megatron chuckled, lathing his glossa over a small bite, hands groping at Optimus’ hips and waist.

“I wondered when you’d realize that I’m good at things  _ other _ than being a superior adversary.”

Optimus would have had a lot to say about  **_ that _ ** but then Megatron gripped his thighs and lifted him completely off the ground and his processor fritzed. He’d somehow forgotten how strong Megatron was,  _ which was ridiculous. _ His cooling fans clicked on so fast he didn’t realize the loud whir was him right away, though Megatron’s smug expression certainly helped with the revelation.

Optimus squinted, let the silence linger a tense moment, “I will ignore that comment for the time being if you promise to help me find a room with a door that locks. Then you can show me what else it is you’re so  _ superior _ at.”

The  _ night _ that got him was worth the next days tabloids, especially considering the hung over former warlord in his berth was entertainingly and exaggeratedly grumpy as Optimus read them aloud to him.


End file.
